


Shotgun

by multipletabs



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Marijuana, Shotgunning, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 17:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20213269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipletabs/pseuds/multipletabs
Summary: Peter has been spending more time with Dylan since getting suspended, and Dylan concocts a new way for the two to pass the time.





	Shotgun

Peter feels Dylan’s socked foot brush lightly against his. They’re together on Dylan’s couch, Dylan laying against the side, lit joint hanging in his mouth, staring at the ceiling. Peter’s sitting on the other side, feet off the ground, knees curled up against his chest as he scrolls through the latest comments on the last episode of Vandal on his phone.

It’s been like this a lot lately, especially after Peter’s suspension. Sam was still grounded because of it, so spending time with him was a no go. Peter once again is thankful for his mom being so awesome. When he told her about the suspension and why it happened, her first response was to call it bullshit. Unlike Sam’s parents, she allowed Peter some freedom. As long as he kept up with his classwork, Peter was allowed to spend time working on the doc or with friends. The problem is, outside of Sam and maybe Gabi, Peter doesn’t really have any friends. Other than Dylan.

At the start of this school year, Peter would have never expected to be calling Dylan a friend. Sure, they knew each other because of the morning show, but they barely talked, and, if he was being honest, Peter was never much a fan of Dylan’s immature camerawork.

But making the documentary allowed Peter the chance to really get to know Dylan and see every possible side of him, and, surprisingly enough, Dylan… wasn’t as bad as Peter originally thought. So, with no one else to turn to, Peter turned to Dylan.

Dylan was still expelled, of course, and the rest of the Wayback Boys, having already missed a bunch of days of school, couldn’t afford to miss any more absences. So it was just the two of them. Just as it will be for the rest of the week, at least until Peter is allowed to return to school. 

Spending time with Dylan has proven to be a lot more comfortable than Peter thought it would be. The two don’t have a lot in common, but there’s something about Dylan that’s just… charming. Peter’s never been very talkative, but that’s never been an issue, since Dylan could talk anyone’s ear off about anything and everything. Even times like now, when the two would sit together in silence, it wasn’t awkward like Peter feared. In fact, he found it a little comforting to be able to sit in such intimate silence with someone, even if that someone is Dylan Maxwell.

But the silence never lasts forever around Dylan. 

“Yo, Pete,” he says, finally. Peter feels the cushions below move as Dylan shifts his weight upright, leaning on his arms.

Peter simply mutters a quiet _Hm?_ in response, not bothering to look from his phone.

“So, like, you really never smoked weed or anything?” 

Peter glances over to Dylan and smiles. “Like I said the other day, I have asthma, so--”

“Yeah, yeah, that asthma crap,” Dylan cuts him off, “But, like, weed is different, you know? Cigarettes and shit… that’s bad. But weed, man? Weed can, like, heal people.”

Peter quirks an eyebrow at that.

“Yeah, man! Like, okay, there was this woman who couldn’t walk, she had cancer, the whole works, right? She starts smoking some of that medicinal shit, next thing you know, her cancer was gone and she’s walking again. Just like that.” 

Peter chuckles. It’s utter bullshit of course, but Dylan speaks with such sincerity that Peter’s almost willing to believe him.

“So, yeah, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Maybe even cured if you started toking up.” 

“I appreciate the thought, Dylan, but I’d rather not risk it,” Peter replies.

Dylan leans back a bit, quiet in thought. Peter turns his eyes back towards his phone. He hears Dylan inhale a few more hits from the joint. 

“Okay, so,” Dylan coughs out, a bit of smoke still caught in him, “maybe taking it directly is too much for you. But what if there was another way?” 

“You mean like when people put the weed in their brownies or something?”

A goofy grin spreads on Dylan’s face. “Yes! Well, no. That’s one way, but I had something else in mind.” He darts his eyes away from Peter’s, as if Dylan Maxwell is somehow embarrassed by something. “Have you ever heard of shotgunning?” 

Peter thinks about it. He knows about calling shotgun so you can sit in the front passenger seat of a car. He even knows about shotgunning beer by cutting the can and drinking directly from it. He’s seen Ming do just that from all the party footage he’s reviewed for the doc, but Peter imagines that has nothing to do with the current situation. Peter gives up and shrugs his shoulders.

“Basically, it’s like… you just kind of inhale the smoke someone else’s just exhaled,” Dylan explains.

“So, secondhand smoke? I’ve been around you a lot lately and I haven’t gotten high from any of--”

A short, dry laugh cuts Peter off. “No, dude, it’s a lot more… closer than that.” Dylan sees the confusion plain on Peter’s face. “Look, just-- just come over here and I’ll show you.”

Peter drops his knees and scoots over on the cushion. Dylan sits all the way up. He inches closer, leaning his face towards Peter’s, until the distance between them is practically nonexistent. 

At this distance, with the afternoon sunlight shining in from the window, Peter can see all the colors in Dylan’s eyes. God, his eyes. How this oaf of a stoner who spends his time making dumb prank videos for a channel with barely any subscribers managed to have the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen, Peter will never know. Yet that never stopped him from filming intense close-ups of nothing but Dylan’s eyes. And it certainly didn’t stop him from including them in the documentary. Peter’s still surprised no one made fun of him for that one. 

At this distance, Peter can also see all the details of Dylan’s face. The handful of tiny, little moles under his eyes. The faint crease in his forehead. The beginnings of his stubble starting to sprout above his upper lip and on his chin. Peter wonders if Dylan is studying his face in such a way, too. 

Dylan brings the joint back up to his face. “Are you ready?” He asks, voice softer than Peter has ever heard Dylan speak before. 

Peter nods. 

Dylan brings the joint to his lips, and slowly inhales a large hit. He holds it in for a moment. Peter’s too focused on Dylan’s face to see him lifting his other hand up. Peter’s surprised, only briefly, at the sudden feeling of Dylan’s heavy hand running his fingers through his hair as he places his hand on the back of his head. Dylan gently brings Peter’s head closer, closer, closer...

Their noses are nearly touching at this point. Peter’s lips are parted, open, waiting. If he wanted to (_did_ he want to?), Peter could lean in the rest of the way, and he could…

Before that thought goes further, Dylan finally exhales. The smoke is pointed, his mouth narrow and small, as he aims the smoke directly towards Peter’s mouth. Peter can feel Dylan’s thumb rest itself lightly on his chin as he uses it to gently pull it downwards, trying to open Peter’s mouth a bit more.

Peter takes as much of the smoke into his mouth as he can. He holds it for as long as he can (a pitiable few seconds, thanks asthma) before exhaling. To both of their surprise, he manages to do so with only a cough of two. 

And it’s… different. Peter has no idea what it feels like to be high, but he’s pretty sure that this must be it. Or close enough. He feels mostly the same, but more… chill. Relaxed. The usual thoughts and anxieties that like to bounce around in Peter’s head are quiet for a change. 

The two boys bring their faces apart and gently fall back against the couch, seemingly in synch with each other. Though they’re no longer face to face, the two are still just as close as before. Peter can feel Dylan’s shoulder press into his. He can feel the heat from Dylan’s heavy thigh leaning on his. Peter’s whole body tingles, and he’s not sure if that’s from the weed, or from this dangerous proximity. Perhaps it’s both. 

Peter turns his eyes towards Dylan, only to find Dylan’s eyes were already on him.

“It’s not the same as smoking it yourself, but it feels good, right?” Dylan asks, his signature wry smile on his face, his eyes locked on Peter’s. 

Peter wants to say yes, but his mouth doesn’t let him. He settles for a nod. 

“Tell you what, if you liked it this much, maybe we could… do it again some other time, maybe?” Dylan asks with an air of nonchalance, as if he didn’t really care whether Peter said yes or no, but his eyes look too sincere for that to be true. 

Peter nods again. He would like that. He would like that a lot.

“Hell yeah,” Dylan says. And Peter can only agree.

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading some shotgunning fic for some of my other ships when, like an epiphany, I was struck with the idea of Maxdonado shotgunning. So I had to write for the first time in months and this is what happened lmao. I hope you all enjoyed it. Maxdonado rights!


End file.
